A thunderous shout shattered the countryside; a booming echo that chased the kestrels from their branches and sent them into a noisy flight.
Seated on the wrought iron bench in the marchioness’ now snow-covered gardens, Alice lowered her book.
She waited, straining her ears for a hint of another sound.
Then giving her head a shake, she returned her attention to her reading. She trailed a single glove-encased digit over the words written there. Rhys’ slight admonishment lingered still.
How dare he presume to pass judgment on the type of works she read? Yes, she no longer read gothic novels and romantic tales but that didn’t mean there wasn’t value in the books on animals that she now devotedly read. The zoology works and talks she’d merely stumbled upon by chance when slipping inside the Royal Society of London to escape the whispers directed her way in the street.
That day, Alice had discovered the scientific disciplines… and, from there, a host of other once-neglected topics.
She’d also come upon Lettie that morning. Lettie, who she’d later learned, took to visiting lecture halls and museums and scholarly venues because she could be certain her matchmaking mama would never come for her, there. And so they, two ladies, avoiding gossip and marriage, had struck a very real friendship. Alice accompanied Lettie to her favorite history talks and Lettie joined Alice everywhere. And along the way, Alice had discovered a world of academia, until then, that she’d not properly explored.
Science and history had proven to be an escape. After all, factual recordings and lectures on natural history had been infinitely safer than talks of Henry’s betrayal and her mistakes and heartache.
Now, with one debate at the breakfast table with Rhys, he’d made her question those topics that had proven such a diversion to her. She chewed at her lower lip. Nay, not question them, as much as consider her motives in abandoning her previous interests. And sitting here, in the privacy of her own thoughts, she could acknowledge the truth—she missed reading romantic novels. She’d been so determined to bury all mention or hint of happily-ever-after and grand love because of the sharp ache left by Henry’s betrayal.
Only… in time, the ache had dulled, but she’d been forever transformed.
Her gaze caught on her book. The winter wind tugged at the pages and she pressed her fingers to the corners, fixed on the words at the very left center page.
Of mollusks, the sepia is the most cunning, and is the only species that employs its dark liquid for the sake of concealment as well as from fear…
Alice paused.
… the only species that employs its dark liquid for the sake of concealment…
In short, colorless, seeking to escape and avoid notice.
Alice traced that inked text.
It had not always been that way for her. There had been a time when she, to her headmistress’ shame, delighted in speaking freely and living boldly. She hadn’t cared about Society’s opinion or possible whispers. Nor had she deliberately sought to attract scandal as her brother had excelled at over the years. Rather, she’d simply… lived. For herself. For her happiness and freedom. It had been a part of her character born of being the forgotten child of a father who’d rejected her, blaming Alice for killing his wife in childbirth.
And then in one scandalous display, where she’d shamed herself before Henry and Polite Society that day, Alice had attempted to redefine herself… into the colorless figure Rhys had accused her of being.
It’s entirely possible for a person to be both romantic in spirit and practical of mind. To exist, one without the other, leaves for a colorless soul…
In the distance, another shout went up.
Lifting her head, she did another search about.
There it was… again; a guttural cry pealed around the grounds.
Alice closed her book with a firm thwack and hopped up. With the snow crunching under her feet, she hurried out from the now deadened gardens.
She paused, straining her ears.
And this time, on the heels of that loud booming voice, was a flurry of cries. Ones that sounded like… a child’s.
Intrigue sprung her once more into motion. Alice made her way down the path perfectly tended by the dowager marchioness’ diligent servants and she made her way toward the distant shouts.
With each step, the shouts and cries grew louder.
And then, she stopped. The tableau before her, held her immobile.
Two little children ducked and darted around Rhys, hurling snowballs at him as they went.
Her heart fluttered.
I should leave. She was an intruder on a moment between Rhys and those two small girls.
And yet, her feet remained frozen as she stared on at the trio at play. Rhys’ tall, black hat, long since lost in his snow battle, had left those too-long golden curls exposed to the sun’s rays as he ran through the snow.
Alice’s had been a solitary childhood. There had been a father who despised the mere sight of her. An older brother who’d been so busy whoring and drinking that he’d never bothered with a girl more than three and ten years his junior. Oh, he’d eventually noticed her… when her entire childhood had come and gone.
As such—Alice cocked her head—she’d never known a gentleman who spoke to a child, let alone engaged in games with one.
Just then, he drew back his arm, poised to launch another snowball.
“Uncle Rhys,” the taller of the girls called out. She pointed a finger in Alice’s direction, bringing his attention her way.
Arm still drawn, he turned. His gaze locked with Alice’s.
Even with the fifteen paces between them, she detected the flash of surprise in his steel-grey eyes.
Her pulse leapt.
She lifted her hand in a hesitant greeting.
He returned her wave with his spare hand—
A snowball slammed into the back of his head.
He grunted. Dropping the snowball in his fingers, he whipped around.
Alice cried out a warning—too late.
The other child hurled another ball of snow at his chest.
The two giggling girls with their impressive aims, raced off.
Alice slapped her hands over her mouth to bury a laugh. Her own brother had always been too cynical as a young man to ever do something as frivolous and fun as to play child’s games in the snow.
Rhys cupped his hands around his mouth and called over. “I trust when you started on your jaunt, Alice, you didn’t expect to stumble upon a battle on my brother’s properties.”
She matched his movements, framing her lips. “A war.”
The sun formed a soft halo about him, giving him an otherworldly magnificence. “Beg pardon?”
Alice pointed beyond his shoulder.
Rhys whipped back and took another well-aimed missile in the face. He sputtered around a mouthful of snow as the little girls again darted off.
“It appears an outright war has been declared,” she shouted.
Dusting a gloved palm over his face, Rhys smiled. His even, white teeth flashed in a devastating half-grin that upset the ordered beat of her heart.
Again, she urged her legs to move so Rhys might return his attention to the two minxes darting about.
Alas—
Swiping his hat from the ground, Rhys jogged over; his long-legged steps languid, and sleek despite the heavy snowfall that lay around them.
His breath stirring faint puffs of white, he stopped before her. “Lady Alice…” His gaze went to her hands.
Alice followed his stare.
“Ah, you’ve taken your reading outside.”
Reflexively, she curled her fingers tightly around the book, holding it close. Again, he’d pass judgment and with reason. Of all their exchanges thus far, she had been hiding… from something, more specifically, someone. “I merely sought some… quiet,” she said after a long stretch of silence. As soon as the words left her mouth, she cringed. What had become of her that she, the bane of her nursemaid and governess and then finishing school instructors’ existence craved… quiet.
Rhys instantly shuttered his expression and she mourned the death of that previous lightheartedness. He adjusted the brim of his hat. “Forgive me, I will leave you to your reading, madam.”
Good. It was as it should be. Those two little girls now paused in their games, stared curiously back at their uncle and Alice. Propriety dictated that she let the family to their gayness while she—
She dropped her stare to the book still clenched in her fingers. “I wasn’t suggesting you leave,” she said quickly, her voice ringing loudly in the empty country quiet. Alice recoiled. Oh, bloody hell.
Rhys spun back.
She cleared her throat. “That is… what I meant to say…”
Another one of those neat golden eyebrows went up.
“I was merely explaining why I was here.” Not announcing herself, watching him. Alice gave thanks for the bite of the frigid air that left her cheeks chilled and no doubt reddened, concealing the blush her admission had cost her.
“Uncle Rhys!”
They glanced across to the pair trotting over, hand-in-hand. With every step that brought the dark-haired girls closer, the curiosity in their gazes deepened.
“Hullo, moppet and poppet,” he intoned with such affection for the pair, that it sent another dangerous warmth spreading through her chest. “May I present my nieces, Lady Faith…” The taller girl dropped a curtsy made sloppy by the uneven snow. “And Lady Violet.”
Not bothering with the formality of a curtsy, Violet tripped over herself in her haste to reach Alice. Tilting her head at an impossible angle, she met Alice’s gaze. “Who are you?”
She sank to a knee. “My name is Alice.”
“Are you a friend of my Uncle Rhys?” the older child put to her, refocusing Alice’s attention beyond the small girl’s shoulder. Curiosity brimmed from Lady Faith’s expressive eyes. “Or are you another one of those wicked wid—” Rhys covered the loquacious child’s mouth with his palm, burying the rest of that scandalous query.
Heat burned a path from Alice’s toes up to the roots of her hair.
Outraged eyes peeked up at her uncle’s. “What?” Faith groused, her words muffled. “I overheard Grandmuffer—”
“A friend,” Alice squeaked, and all eyes went to her. And then she rather wished she’d allowed Rhys to handle his inquisitive niece’s questioning.
“You are a friend of Uncle Rhys’?” the toddler beside her piped in.
“No,” Alice said too quickly.
“You are… not a friend, then?” Violet asked, scratching at the top of her head. “Why not? Uncle Rhys is good fun.” Not allowing Alice a word edgewise, she ran through a quick enumeration of her uncle’s attributes. “He brings us peppermint and gives us rides on his shoulders. And he sneaks his dessert onto our plates during dinners when we’re together.”
A smile tugged at Alice’s lips and, unbidden, her gaze wandered over to the devoted uncle in question. So as to not offend the child, she schooled her features. “Your Uncle Rhys sounds like a wonderful uncle.” And he did. From his willingness to romp about with two small children—nay not a willingness but an enthusiasm, he was a manner of gentleman that she’d not believed existed among Polite Society. Why, ever polite and dignified Henry had maintained a careful composure with all—Alice included. She certainly couldn’t imagine her stiffly proper former betrothed running about in the snow. “What I meant to say is that I’m a friend of your aunt, Lettice.”
“Ah,” the little girls said in unison.
“Aunt Lettice knows how to throw a snowball,” Faith said matter-of-factly. She took several steps closer. A probing glimmer lit the girl’s cornflower blue eyes. “We believe it is important a young lady knows how to throw a snowball. What do you say to that?
Having been herself a master of mischief, Alice well-knew there was something more at play here.
An odd, strangled sound from the gentleman brought Alice’s gaze briefly over. “Oh, undoubtedly so,” she said somberly. “I trust proper snowball skills are near as important as fishing and riding.”
“Splendid.” Lady Faith beamed. “Would you care to join us?”
“Would I…?” She touched her spare hand to her chest. A yearning stirred inside. When was the last time she’d raced around the countryside freely laughing and playing, without a care for what a soul said?
“Oh, you must join us,” Violet put forward excitedly. “You can be on Uncle Rhys’ side because he was doing very badly on his own. And I will be with Faith and—”
Rhys coughed loudly. “I trust Lady Alice would far rather return to her reading than join us in our ruthless match.”
Disappointment filled her. Something in Rhys’ words hinted at one who believed Alice wholly incapable of doing anything lighthearted and frivolous. Which, in fairness to Rhys, had been the case for Alice these past months. But she hadn’t always been that way. There’d been a time when she’d moved about every aspect of life with complete abandon.
I miss that… I wish to be that, again…
Alice let her shoulders sag. “Yes,” she said softly. “Yes, of course. I should let you continue your battle.”
“But—”
“Come,” Faith interrupted her younger sister’s protestations.
After the pair had scampered off, Rhys lingered a moment, hovering before Alice. Then, he lifted his hat, in parting, revealing a magnificent tangle of curls. “Lady Alice,” he murmured, that satiny smooth baritone set her belly aflutter. Those husky tones possessed the quality of warmed chocolate or the sun now beating down on them.
“Lord Rhys,” she murmured.
“Uncle Rhys,” his eldest niece shouted.
Turning on his heel, he trotted off.
Alice stared after his retreating form and a wave of wistfulness stole through her. How many times in her own life had she been the one rushing off to revel in life’s simple pleasures? What a sad day indeed that she now stood here morose and downcast while Rhys Brookfield partook in a snowball fight. Since her scandal she’d allowed herself to be bound by constraints. And for what purpose?
Alice tucked her book into a pocket. Dropping to her haunches and, hastily assembling a snowball, she rose and hurled it.
Her small, but perfectly rounded projectile hissed through the air. The snowball slammed into the back of Rhys’ hat, knocking it forward.
It landed on an untouched portion of snow and skidded across the icy layered top.
He turned; standing shoulder to shoulder with his suddenly silent, slack-jawed nieces. At the thick, pregnant pause, Alice clenched her hands into fists.
“Did you just hit Uncle Rhys?” the youngest of the two girls whispered.
“Uh…” She tugged at the laces of her bonnet, feeling very much like the oft-chastised child who’d delighted in her nursemaid’s misery.
“And it was a good one,” Violet breathed in reverent awe.
“I…” She smiled. “Why, thank you.” From the corner of her eye, she stole a glance at Rhys, attempting to decipher anything from his deadpan expression. Coughing into her fist, she dropped a sloppy curtsy. “I should really leave you now to your…” fun. “battle,” she settled for.
And yet, fun is precisely what it was. And Alice had been so morose and miserable that she wanted the revelry to continue on… with her a part of it.
She lingered, wanting Rhys to invite her on to join him and the two little imps.
An offer that did not come.
“Lady Alice,” he said, with another slight inclination.
Oddly bereft at being cast out as the interloper, she fished the small, leather tome from her pocket, and started back for her abandoned seat.
Suddenly, a snowball collided dead center with her back.
She gasped, the icy cold faintly penetrated the thick fabric of her velvet cloak, and sent her book tumbling from her fingers.
Alice whipped about.
Rhys, an arrogant grin on his well-formed lips, waggled his eyebrows.
Her lips parted. Why… why… he’d tricked her. And worse, she’d allowed herself to be tricked.
The two little girls flanking his sides alternated wide-eyed stares between Rhys and Alice.
It was Alice who broke the impasse. She retrieved her book and tucked it back into her pocket, once more. “It seems all out war has been declared.”
And hastily assembling another snowball, she launched her next attack.